Never Counting Regrets
by through amber eyes
Summary: Massie has always lived by "the rules" that were given to her in order to cope with her sadness. However, these "rules" not only keep Massie in a brittle existence that is soon shattered by further traumatic events, she is forced to learn to deal with the pain and heal. And rules - like hearts - are meant to be broken. Cassie/Massington. AU.
1. Rule One

Sami again and surprise surprise, I've written a new story, but I promise to keep updates frequently. This is based from a book I read long ago and I just had to write it, same beginning, but different plot.

CREDIT: Title from "A Drop in the Ocean" by Ron Pope

Btw, there's a lot of foreshadowing in this chapter.

…..

Rule #1: Avoid the Gods, at ALL costs.

Between the large trees of Westchester, New York, stood the infamous large majestic river known as Birch Falls. Birch Falls was the "Greasy Lake" to Briarwood, everyone who attended the prestigious school hung out there.

Alicia and Massie were seen out in the middle of the majestic river, paddling their way through and from the vicious part of the river known as "the falls". They were trying to get away before the Gods could stop them, before they even knew that the two girls were gone.

Back on the shore were the Briarwood Gods, huddling around a bonfire and if Massie could recall correctly, she was pretty sure that Cam had been drinking beer that night, or at least he had reeked of the toxic smell when he had tried to kiss her. She remembered that she had seen Josh, his wingman, and Plovert, his sidekick, tossing the empty aluminum cans into the fire. She heard them making bets on which can would melt first, and Josh had won considering his distinctive shouting.

The Briarwood Gods were Cam Fisher, Josh Hotz, and Chris Plovert. Most people had called them that, but Massie and Alicia had come up with the name because they acted as if they were the Gods at their school. They were Soccer champs, they were good-looking, and they were seniors, a year older than Alicia and Massie.

It was bizarre, however, because when Alicia and Massie were thirteen, it was like they didn't even know they were alive. They had never taken a glance at them. They were too hung up with the seniors and juniors probably trying to cop a feel, but Alicia and Massie had intense crushes on them, everyone did, especially Cam Fisher. But the Briarwood Gods had constantly ignored them, which is probably why they had given them their name. They were considered godlike.

But then all of a sudden, in the spring of sophomore year, the Gods had wanted to sit by Alicia and Massie at lunch, invited them down to the launch, threw soccer balls for them to catch as if they were on the team with them. Alicia had considered it as spring fever, but Massie had thought differently; she thought that maybe they had just suddenly gotten tired of – or run out of – the junior and senior girls. Westchester was a small town located in New York, but it was nothing like New York City and there weren't many potential dates to choose from.

And then somehow last April, Cam Fisher had asked Massie out for ice cream, then a movie, and she remembered panicking and had to ask Alicia to come with her because she didn't know how to act around the Briarwood Gods on her own. She had always been shy. It was all right that she had brought Alicia in the end however, because Cam had asked Josh and Plovert to come. Massie had guessed none of them were all that good at being alone.

But, that was last year.

This year, Alicia and Massie never considered them as Gods anymore, but it was hard to break the habit of calling them that.

And if Cam had kissed Massie this time last year, she would have kissed him back. She would have been so excited throughout the kiss and at the same time been dying to tell Alicia the next day, but not now. Not ever anymore. So, Massie did what any other person would do from a sloppy kiss. She wriggled out of his tight grasp and wiped her disgusted mouth with the back of her hand and yelled, "Cut it out!" Before running across the wooded forest to look for Alicia, who was (of course) hanging out with some juniors Massie didn't know. Alicia (of course) didn't know them either, but that didn't stop her the way it would have stopped Massie.

Alicia and Massie took a hold of an old boat after running for what seemed like miles. It was a small aluminum rowboat that seemed to have been abandoned for quite a while. They dragged it into the green murky water and quickly dashed into it to make their escape from the Briarwood Gods. Of course, Massie was never one to steal someone's rowboat on her own – it was Alicia's idea. Everything was Alicia's idea, including coming down to the boat launch that night, when they hadn't been there in months.

"You know I can't actually swim," Alicia remarked, peering over the bow of the rowboat into the river.

"Yes, you do," Massie replied.

"Not well, anyway." Alicia started to chuckle and next thing they knew; they were both in a fit of laughter. Massie had recalled the last time she saw Alicia dog paddle in her neighbor's lake. She could hardly stop complaining about why her neighbors hadn't gotten a pool where it was safer and not filled with 'contagious insects'. Alicia was too busy talking to even swim; she ended up inhaling the murky water and then coughing her way through.

"Let's go back," Alicia stated, grabbing the paddle and steering the boat into the direction they had started.

"I was actually already trying to do that," Massie bluntly added and pulled on the oars to get them beaded back towards the shore, but the small rowboat kept spinning around, making a circle. Massie glanced at the dark water beneath them, she should have known not to come here, the water wasn't even clear enough to see how deep or shallow the lake was. She should have been at her house watching her collection of 80's movies or a movie at Alicia's house like they usually did on Friday nights. They were never allowed out on their own after dark, it was the city's law that teenagers under the age 21 have a curfew before 10, except for school events. So they did what cliché rebellious teenagers did, they had created a lie and invented a Valentine's Day school dance, even though it was a week past Valentine's Day, but Massie knew her father would never notice a detail like that.

"A dance?" her father had said, incredulously. "I thought you hated school dances."

"We're trying to be like normal teenagers," Alicia had told him. "It starts with going to crap like this."

Massie's father had laughed and agreed that she could go, and then Massie had explained that she was staying over at Alicia's after, like they usually did on Friday nights. It was so easy to lie to Massie's father, and it made her wonder why she hadn't done it sooner.

"Massie! I swear we're heading straight for the falls I can hear them," Alicia shouted nervously.

"No, we're not. We're a mile away," Massie said, exaggerating just a little. "Don't worry, we have time." But Massie couldn't steer the boat to the correct direction herself, she was usually good at boats, or at least she thought she was. Her father had always been the over-protective dad and had insisted on teaching her about the river so she could swim to safety when she needed to. He had even made her bail water out of a sinking canoe, treat water for ten minutes, and had taught her how to perform CPR and pump out someone else's lungs just in case.

Massie had guessed her father was such an over-protective dad was because his own father had sold insurance. He was obsessed with what might happen and what a person needed to be prepared for. Massie had never known what he had thought would happen, but he probably hadn't expected that she and Alicia would be in an old, broken–down rowboat at ten o'clock at night, just to escape from Cam Fisher and the other Gods. As far as he knew, she was still _dating _Cam; she was at the school dance with Cam, even though it had been months since they broken up. Her dad didn't keep up like he used to. He never seemed to pay attention anymore.

Alicia shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. She was wearing her Ralph Lauren short-sleeve shirt and jeans with her usual Steve Madden combat boots. At least Massie had a large heavy wool sweater, Ralph Lauren cashmere long sleeved shirt underneath, her dark denim jeans, and boots. Alicia and Massie had always dressed for completely different seasons, because Alicia was always hot and Massie was always cold.

"It's freezing out here and we're up a creek without a paddle," Alicia whined as she grabbed her two long legs and huddled them and then suddenly dropped them.

"No," Massie quietly shouted before correcting her. "We're up a creek with two different sized oars. I guess that's what you get for stealing someone's boat."

"Borrowing. Not stealing. Hey, see those lights? I think that's the bonfire."

"I know."

"It's getting really far away, oh my god we're headed straight for the falls aren't we? Massie I knew this was a terrible, terrible idea."

"Just give the paddle a little more muscle." Massie demanded. She set the oars on her thighs and pushed a loss strand of her auburn curls to her ear.

"Come on," Alicia urged. "Please. This is making me really nervous."

Alicia, nervous, was basically an oxymoron. Massie tilted the mismatched oars so that she could see the blades in the moonlights. Then she slid the oars back through the locks and scooted forward on the tiny bench like seat in the boat. She pulled as hard as she could. The oarlocks screeched as the metal oar and lock scraped against each other, then suddenly there was a loud snap on the left side. Massie reached out to catch the lock, but unfortunately it splashed into the river fore she could grab it.

Alicia screamed, reaching overboard to fish for the broken lock. "It sank. Massie it sank it sank it sank, what are we going to do now?"

"Let's each take an oar and paddle. I'll steer," Massie said, hanging Alicia the longer oar this time.

"This is worst than that canoe trip, I hope you know that." Alicia whined, before doing as Massie demanded and grabbing an oar. "You know I hate how calm you are in this situation."

"This isn't a canoe," Massie remarked before attempting to steer the boat to safety, She stopped as she head a boat coming towards them. She could make out a small green light on its starboard side.

"What's that?" Alicia questioned. "Do we have coast guards here?"

"This isn't the coast," Massie responded, quite annoyed.

The boat's engine revved, the bow bouncing on the water, carving the river as it plowed ahead. A large headlight on the front of the boat shone into the two girl's eyes.

"Here, I have some matches!" Alicia yelled with relief, dropping the shortest oar to the bottom of the boat and rifled through the pockets of her tight jeans.

"Why do you have matches?" Massie questioned as Alicia frantically tried to get one lit and Massie had suddenly seen the large figure start to approach them.

"I stole them from my Mom so she couldn't smoke tonight." Mrs. Rivera had been trying to quit for the past year, but it seemed as if she was smoking even more than before.

"Doesn't she have a lighter?" Massie asked. "Or she'll just use your stove or something."

"Of course, I'm not dumb, I thought of that. She can light it a thousand different ways, but at least this makes her think about it first. That's the genius of it."

"Hey, I think it's a boat approaching us. Hey!" Massie yelled, standing up as the boat came nearer, not slowing down. Massie waved her arms frantically in the air.

"Massie I think it's going to ram –" And at the last second, the boat whirled around them and made a wide circle before coming towards their old rowboat. Massie heard the loud voices coming from the boat, then laughing and recognized Cam shouting to Josh to catch their boat the next time they went past.

"I knew it was them," Alicia scoffed. "Losers."

The motorboat came to a halt and stopped behind Alicia and Massie. Cam was sitting in the back, steering, and Josh and Plovert were sitting in the middle on a small bench seat.

"Need a lift ladies?" Josh slightly chuckled and reached out to the grab the small rowboat as they cruised slowly past them, but he had stumbled, bumping into the side of the boat. "Woah," he said, falling back onto the bench seat.

"No, but I think you do." Alicia remarked.

"Shut up, Rivera," Josh said, slurring her last name into an unrecognizable jumble.

Cam circled back around, and this time Plovert leaned over the bow to the grab the rowboat as Cam cut the motor. They slowly drifted towards them. "What the hell are you guys doing out here?" Plovert asked.

"We're on a cruise. What do you think?" Alicia sneered as Plovert threaded a thick rope through the ring in the prow of the rowboat and knotted it so they could tow them back to shore.

"That you're insane." Plovert stated grinning at them.

"That you shouldn't be out here. That you don't know what you're doing at all." Cam stated, looking intently at Massie. "Next time, I'll go out with you."

Him and Plovert pulled the bow of the rowboat up onto shore ten minutes later, with Massie and Alicia still sitting in it. "You seriously shouldn't have tried that by yourselves."

Massie glanced at Cam's face as she quickly climbed out of the rowboat, one foot landing in the water and the other on mud. She noticed his concerned face as his eye brows furrowed towards each other and his blue and green eyes dull. "We didn't need you this time," Massie responded.

"Yeah right. Your boat was drifting. You were hopeless against the current," Josh explained. He was always kind of know-it-all and that had always bothered Massie. He was the captain of Briarwood's soccer team, so she had guessed that he was used to telling people what to do.

"Only because our oars were two different sizes." Alicia ridiculed. "We would have easily made it back under different circumstances." She hated being told what she could or couldn't do.

Josh just laughed and shook his head. "Yeah, sure thing, Rivera."

"Listen. The day we have to rely on you guys – especially you?" Alicia reached out and pushed her index finger against Josh's chiseled chest. "Is the day that we're in serious trouble and dying."

Josh simply put his arm around Alicia's lean shoulders and squeezed her as if he were to wrestle her to the ground. "You're funny. A real kicker, you know that, right, Rivera?" He sounded sort of offended by her remark, but also impressed by her comeback. Alicia could say anything to anybody. She wasn't afraid of anything.

"Look, we don't want any trouble." Cam started, putting his hands up. "Do you both need a ride or something?"

"No, thanks. We'll walk," Alicia instantly retorted.

"Don't be stupid, it's late." Cam said.

"We're not being stupid, we know you guys are wasted," Alicia pointed out. "You shouldn't have been steering the boat."

"They are. I'm not." Cam quickly replied.

"Hmm… Yeah. Well. We're still not taking our chances thank you."

Cam came closer to Massie. "You look cold. You want my jacket?" He shrugged out of his signature leather jacket, which was covered in his Drakkar Noir cologne and Massie had thought of all the times she had worn that stupid jacket. She recalled clutching the scratchy wool fabric against her delicate face, trying to burrow inside it, and trying to bury herself in it, but then she remembered how love struck she was and shook her auburns locks to hide her embarrassment.

"I'm not cold," Massie stated. She had been shivering a little, but stopped immediately after Cam had suggested the option. "Anyway, we really have to go, thanks for the tow though."

"Anytime." Cam smiled at her, and for a second she had remembered why she once thought he was the most attractive guy she had laid her eyes on. He had those killer different colored orbs, those chiseled check bones, and perfectly structured nose. Last year this would have been the most meaningful thing that had ever happened to her. Last year she would probably be doing cartwheels all across town and back, but things were different now.

Massie smiled in return and started walking beside Alicia up from the boat launch to the main road.

"We should have made them give us Cam's truck," Alicia exclaimed, hitting herself in the head as to why she hadn't thought of it sooner.

Massie laughed. "Yeah, but we don't even have our license yet."

"How hard can it be? If we can drive a boat, we can drive a car."

"But we've never driven a boat," Massie reminded her. "Not the kind with an engine at least."

"Mass, you always get hung up with technicalities. My mom lets me steer sometimes in the morning, while she's putting on her mascara. I mean, that's somewhat practice." Alicia rubbed her arms. "Notice how Cam didn't offer me his jacket. You know, he really likes you, still. Why didn't you let him drive us home? I mean, what's wrong with him?"

"I don't know. Nothing," Massie said. "He just… he bores me that's all." Massie quickly added, she never liked talking about this subject. She couldn't tell her that it wasn't what was wrong with him, that it was her. But then again, Alicia probably already knew the reason.

.&.

Mrs. Rivera was chuckling at something on TV before the two girls had walked in. "Hey, where have you guys been?" she asked before grabbing a spoonful of ice cream and chucking it into her mouth.

"Nowhere, Mom. Just hanging out," Alicia replied. "Mom, it smells like fruits in here. What did you do?"

"Oh, I bought some of that orange oil cleaning stuff. I was trying to get ahead on the Saturday cleaning."

"No, you were covering up the smell of smoke. Weren't you?" Alicia asked, obviously annoyed with her mother's behavior.

Mrs. Rivera huffed a sigh. "Okay, fine." She said before clearing her knotted up throat. "Massie? I saw your father at the store tonight."

"When you went to go purchase some more smokes?" Alicia scoffed.

"No sweetie, when I went to buy groceries." She turned off the television and started cleaning the TV screen with Windex. "He looked very tired. Do you think he's sleeping well?"

"Sure," Massie said simply, however she tried remembering what he had looked like in the morning when she passed him in the kitchen on the way out. In a way, she never really kept track of him anymore than he had kept track of her.

"You missed a spot," Massie added, attempting to change the subject and pointing to the smudge on the TV screen, but then realized what an obnoxious thing that was to say and quickly apologized, "Sorry."

…..

This is a Cassie/Massington (aka let me know which one you want)

Derrington will be in the next chapter (insert yay!)

Hope you enjoyed it; sorry it's such a rough story atm!


	2. Rule Two

Here is the lovely introduction of the character Derrick. You're welcome.

…

Rule #2: NEVER use your lockers, unless you enjoy bad news.

Across the large pedestals that stood against the brick walls of Westchester's infamous Briarwood Academy (unfortunately the only school building the small town could afford), a small petite brunette was seen sprinting against the marble steps of the well-known building and girls seen already pampering themselves for the Briarwood Gods.

Massie scoffed as she ran past them and slightly chuckled at their delusional brains. She recalled when she was one of them, trying to impress Cam Fisher and his sidekicks by making her hair glossier, her lips fuller, and even attempted to sway her hips in every direction. She sighed in pity of their embarrassment, she didn't want to sound cocky, but she knew that the Briarwood Gods had only eyes for her and Alicia – mostly her unfortunately.

The brunette scrambled towards her locker as she grabbed her things for her next class, creative writing. She never really enjoyed the class itself, in fact she dreaded it, considering the people in it – Josh Hotz and Chris Plovert - but her favorite teacher Mr. Davidson taught it. She didn't know why she liked him so much, probably because he was the only teacher that hadn't come up to her and ask her about "the break-up" and hand her a box of tissues. She would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy the pity from the teachers, but she hated receiving the constant bickering. She broke up with Cam Fisher, end of story.

The amber-eyed girl dashed towards her creative writing class after closing her locker shut; "Fuck," she screeched, she was already four minutes late. She entered the small classroom and smiled apologetically at Mr. Davidson before taking her seat. She knew that he wouldn't count her tardy, mostly because she was his favorite student and he was never one to question her, like she had mentioned before.

"Okay class, welcome to the fourth six weeks of this school. Now, I know I've been a little lenient for a while, but today… today is the day where we learn about the wondrous works of Mark Twain. Yes, you've guessed it 'The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn'. I know you are all excited." Many groans arose from the classroom as Mr. Davidson smirked; he loved depressing students.

"I thought this was a class for writing." Scoffed a male figure. Massie, Alicia, and the rest of the class turned towards the unfamiliar voice, it was odd for someone to ever sass a teacher, but then she realized that she had never seen this person before and from the way he looked she would have definitely noticed him, especially since they were already into the second semester of the school year.

"Why yes we are." Mr. Davidson started, "However, according to my guidelines and teaching this class for seven almost eight years if I may add, it requires us to read three classic novels." He explained with another smirk, it seemed as if his only facial expression were smirks nowadays.

"I apologize, I guess I can't question your authority," the man spoke with a bit of sarcasm, he raised his eyebrows as he leaned back further into his seat. Mr. Davidson smiled; it was obvious he liked the guy already.

"Don't apologize, I'm sorry that I didn't notice a new student walk into our classroom Mister…" Mr. Davidson said as he attempted to pretend to be grabbing the attendance sheet. He probably never even knew a new student was coming.

"Harrington," the man said as he grinned, "I just transferred here from OCD."

Massie and Alicia's jaw slightly dropped, as well as the whole class. She had not pegged him for an "OCD Bulldog." OCD was the top school in New York, however it was also an all boys' school that consisted of snobby rich kids that drank electrolyte-enhanced water, whatever the hell that meant. Sure his Rolex watch that hung around his wrist meant he acquired a decent amount of money, but his jet-black hair, Led Zeppelin t-shirt, and dark diesel jeans spoke otherwise.

"Ah… here it is. Harrington, Derrick." Mr. Davidson stated as he checked off the name from his clipboard. "And wow… OCD. What are you doing here in a place like Westchester?" He questioned.

"What can I say, I'm not a Finé water type of guy." Derrick shrugged as he started twirling his pencil around his fingers. Massie slightly chuckled that they were thinking of the same thing and Derrick turned giving her a genuine smile. She smiled back and hid her face in embarrassment. She felt like she was in second grade again.

"Well… not doubting you there, I'm more of an Ozarka guy myself." Mr. Davidson chuckled. Alicia turned towards Massie, giving her a puzzled look.

"Why would the new guy move here in the middle of a semester?" Alicia whispered, however, her voice must have been too loud as Derrick shifted in his seat.

"Actually, I prefer Derrick," the boy remarked. "Not 'new guy.' Thanks."

"I thought your name was Harrington," Alicia said, staring at him with a raised eyebrow. "Harrington Derrick."

"No, It's Derrick. I'm pretty sure I'm well aware of what my name is," he said.

"Derrick Harringtonderrick. Wow." Alicia shook her head and her long, raven hair swirled around her shoulders. "What a mouthful."

"No. It's Derrick _Harrington_, not Harringtonderrick," he corrected her, a little more annoyed now. Mr. Davidson loudly cleared his throat.

"Young man, don't let Ms. Alicia Rivera give you a hard time about your name." So, Mr. Davidson wasn't exactly fond of Alicia. Massie knew from the disapproving looks he had given her sometimes when they were together, but she knew that no one could ever understand the bond that her and Alicia shared. They may have been complete opposites, but that's what made their friendship pure. Derrick glanced at Alicia before grinning.

"I'm so sorry. I'll-leash-a-river-uh?" he said. "Interesting." Alicia frowned at him. She was used to teasing other people, not being made fun of herself – she'd usually do that before giving anyone else a chance.

"No, Rivera. Look, never mind, I know better people to argue with," she said, curling her hair around her ear, the way she did whenever she was nervous.

Mr. Davidson clapped his hands together. "That's enough. Today is the first Monday of the month, and you know what that means."

"Buy one pizza, get the second one free?" Derrick muttered under his breath. Massie slightly giggled, glad to know he had actually had a sense of humor unlike most of the guys at their school. He'd need it if he wanted to survive in this boring town.

"Not quite," Alicia said. "Pop quiz. He calls it pop, but we have them the first and third Mondays of every month. Regularly scheduled quiz would be a more suited name for it." She leaned over toward him. "But don't worry. You did know we had to read the background information about Huckleberry Finn before class, right?" she smirked.

Massie smiled as Derrick gave Alicia a confused look.

"I didn't know, actually," Derrick exclaimed as a he rummaged through his army green bag looking for something to write with. Alicia tried to hand him a pencil, but Derrick quickly shook his head.

"No, I only work in pen," he said.

"Don't you worry about mistakes?" Alicia asked before Mr. Davidson started clapping his hands together again.

"I hear talking. I should hear writing." Massie reached into her backpack and fished out an extra pen.

"Thanks. Is she always this judgmental?" Derrick asked Massie, grabbing the ballpoint pen from her delicate fingers and pointing his eyes towards Alicia. Massie looked at him, before pointing at herself, was he talking to her?

"Yes, you. The only person in this room that understands my humor." Derrick slightly grinned. Massie smiled back, but didn't answer. She wasn't really much of a talker. She never was even when she was dating Cam Fisher.

"Ms. Block," Mr. Davidson said, handing a yellow note towards her direction. She grabbed it and unraveled the typed note.

_Massie,_

_Don't worry this is not an emergency._

_But please report to my office immediately._

_Thank you._

_Mr. Stooder_

Mr. Stooder was the school guidance counselor/wrestling coach at Briarwood. Massie quickly stuffed her book into her bag and started walking towards the door. Why did she have to be in his office "immediately" if it wasn't an emergency? She knew she hadn't done anything wrong the past few weeks, what was going on? Massie glanced at Alicia and whispered the word "Stooder" before throwing the crumpled piece of paper on to Alicia's desk so she would know what was up. Whatever Stooder wanted, it couldn't be good. He didn't exactly summon a person for praise or good news.

"Hurry back. The quiz anxiously awaits your return. And you can't afford to miss much, Ms. Block," Mr. Davidson said sarcastically as he handed Massie a hall pass. She knew he was being sarcastic, she had a 98 in his class and a small quiz grade wouldn't affect her much.

.&.

"How've you been, Massie?" Mr. Stooder asked when Massie walked into his office. He closed the door behind her before motioning towards the leather seat for her to sit down in.

"Good," Massie said quietly.

Mr. Stooder quickly sat down in his desk chair. He was about as tall as he was standing up, because he had the shortest legs she had ever seen on a man – on anyone, really. He was still probably the fittest guidance counselor in the state though. Being the wrestling coach and all. He almost always wore sweatpants and various polyester fitness clothes. She lived in fear of ever seeing him in his stretchy nylon-wrestling getup though. She imagined it wasn't particularly a pleasant sight. Once, her and Alicia were leaving the gym when he was walking in and they quickly sprinted out the door, laughing and shielding their eyes. They had only seen the top half of his wrestling getup, but that was all they would want to see for at least a millennium.

She remembered that she had only seen Stooder in a dress suit – black tie attire – once. He looked apelike, with giant broad shoulders, long arms, and short legs. That made him a good wrestler, she guessed, but also a funny-looking man.

"Are you sure? You haven't responded to any of my notes recently." He exclaimed.

"Notes?" She asked. What was he talking about? She glanced at the bookcase behind him where a small black radio was seen playing loud classical music. Mr. Stooder reached over to turn down the volume. He blared music like that at wrestling practice, to motivate people or to motive himself she guessed. It was handy because when her and Alicia heard the music, they knew to stay away from the gym. Stooder turned back to Massie with a curious smile. Why was he smiling at her like that?

"I've been leaving notes inside your locker for the past two weeks, requesting you drop by my office for a meeting," he said. "So why haven't you come by?" Massie sighed in relief, she was glad he wasn't leaving notes in her locking for a different reason.

She stared at the framed diplomas on the wall behind him, certifying his psychology degrees. One of the frames hanging crooked. "Actually, I didn't know you wanted to see me, because I don't use my locker," she said; and as soon as she did, she regretted it. He was probably now going to play twenty questions on her on why she didn't use her locker.

"Oh?" He eyed her large beige bag on the linoleum floor beside her chair. "You don't use your school locker? Why is that?"

As far as she could tell, from her previous visits last year, "Why is that?" and "Why?" and "Why not?" formed the basis of his deep and probing psychological approach.

"Massie. Your locker," Stooder said again. "You said you don't use it? Why?"

"I just don't," she said.

"Yes, I realize that. But why not?" He urged again.

"I just – I don't. Would you stop asking that? I mean, why? Why anything? Does there have to a reason for everything?" Massie quickly retorted

"No, there doesn't have to be I guess," Stooder said, trying to make things more calm."But there usually is." He added quietly.

"I don't know about that," Massie stated. Things happening without reasons were becoming a theme lately. The reason she wasn't using her locker was completely irrational, which is why she wouldn't tell Stooder that it was actually one of her "rules." She had decided that if she didn't go back to using her locker, maybe everything would stay okay for a while. She had ways of doing things now that she couldn't change. Things were set now. They weren't perfect, they weren't even good, but they were set. That included not using her locker, ever.

"Do you have a problem with your locker?" Stooder asked. "Have you had problems with break-ins? Do you need a new locker assignment or lock? Because we can definitely go down to maintenance together and-"

"No, it's not that. It works… fine," she explained. Though she wouldn't really know, would she? She didn't really know why, but even though she wasn't using it now, she didn't want it taken away, or reassigned. "Look, maybe someday that horrible smell from the chemistry lab in the hallway across from it will seem like a good thing," she tried suggesting jokingly.

Stooder stared at her, as if she weren't supposed to be making jokes. Where was the Derrick Harrington kid when you needed him? Stooder's staring just only caused her to babble more.

"The thing is that I'd really just rather carry my stuff with me most of the time," she went on. "But once in a while. I'll use my locker, so. It's fine."

"Oh, well, okay. I suppose." He cleared his throat before starting again. "Listen, Massie. Are you all right?" he asked. "How are things?"

"Fine," she said, because that's what everyone always wanted to hear.

Stooder nodded. "Well. It's been about six months into the school year, and the reason I've been anxious to talk to you is because I wanted to know how you're coping_._

_Six months_. Had it been that long? Sometimes it felt like it had only been a week ago, some days it felt like years. The way Stooder had said it though, made her feel terrible, as if she'd missed someone's birthday, or an important anniversary. Or maybe she was just guilty because he was keeping tack of the months and she wasn't. But she knew his concern wasn't sincere. He was only asking her how she was because he probably had a little prompt in his computer that flagged the date, and her name popped up with words: SIX MONTHS; CHECK ON MASSIE BLOCK. This was his job. They paid him to keep track of students. They paid him to use words like "coping."

"This is the standard check-up, right?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, next come the questions about whether I'm sleeping well at night and whether I'm eating right and if I am, why is that, and if I'm not, then why not?"

"Massie, relax. It's nothing like that," Stooder stated. He tapped the ends of his fingers together. "I'm just concerned. If there's anything you want to talk about… I'm here."

"Thanks." She bluntly stated. If she wanted to talk, which she didn't, she knew the last person she'd ever choose was Mr. Stooder. He had to know that, didn't he? The fact he had to summon her to his office should give him a clue.

"So. Are you staying involved – are you doing any new extracurricular activities? Joining any teams? I know last year was a bad year for you, Massie."

She stared at him intently. She knew she had to give him a good answer so he'd decide if she was all right and would finally leave her alone. Why don't teachers understand that it's HER business, not theirs. She had to tell him what he wanted to hear, which was that she'd responded to his urging and "gotten involved."

"Yes, actually, I am." She said. "I'm in that journalism class, with Mr. Bugle?"

"That's right, I saw your name under a picture on the school newspaper. Well, that must be fun." Stooder smiled at her.

"Sort of," she said. "I mean, yes. It is fun."

There was a long, awkward pause. She could either wait for him to comment on her mental condition some more, or she could tell him she wanted to be the first girl on the wrestling team, or she could try to escape.

"Well, I have to get back to class okay? We have quizzes in creative writing every other Monday and today's unfortunately one of those Mondays, so…"

"Of course. You're excused." Stooder handed her another hall pass. "But keep in touch, Massie, all right?"

"Yes. Definitely. I'll definitely keep in touch," she said. As much as she usually did, which wasn't promising a thing.

.&.

When she got back to class, quiz time was over and Alicia was standing at the blackboard, chalk in hand, drawing how she had imaged Huckleberry Finn's setting to look like. Massie flashed her a smile and went to her seat. Mr. Davidson always made Alicia do this kind of stuff, probably to chuckle at her constant mad bickering. He always seemed to issue dares towards her, knowing that she'd never back down. It was a good strategy, since Alicia loved dares.

Massie nearly hit Derrick with her bag as she swung it off her shoulder and placed in on the floor.

"Caution, as overhead items may have shifted during the flight," he chuckled, ducking his head. Massie looked over at him in embarrassment.

"Sorry."

"That's okay. Please hit me. Knock me on the head and take me out of my misery from this book. I'm begging you," he whined quietly.

Alicia came back from the board just in time to hear him and she stared at the two of them, wondering what was going, what were they talking about? "You're begging her already?" she asked. "You have to work up to that. That's one of her rules."

"Rules?" Derrick repeated.

"Yeah. Don't worry – you'll find out," Alicia scoffed sarcastically.

Massie blushed in embarrassment. She wanted to tell him that it was a ridiculous thing that Alicia had come up with and that she didn't have a set of rules. But they were real and it was true that she followed each and every one of them, well at least attempted to. No one knew about the rules except Alicia, and last year, Cam Fisher. But that was when her rules were foolish, before anything bad had happened, before anything bad had happened to _her_.

….

Next chapter, will feature both Cam and Derrick, so yay! Reviews and people that alert make me write faster.

Thank you to everyone that reviewed/alerted/favorited. 12 reviews? Wow, thank you. You all are seriously the best. I tried adding humor, but I suck so sorry.

xx - Sami


	3. Rule Three

I started writing and couldn't stop, so enjoy! I apologize in advance if this chapter is boring... it's a filler.

….

Rule #3: Soccer is the sport of Satan. No matter the circumstances.

"Seriously, you guys again?" Derrick asked as he watched Massie and Alicia walk into journalism. It wasn't held in a typical classroom. There were a couple of large tables that were pushed together to form a rectangle and behind them, against the windows, long tables with computers and a large printer.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Alicia scoffed, curling her hair around her ear.

"Hi," Massie said. She hated herself for not being as confident as Alicia.

Derrick tilted his chair back against the radiator and propped one foot on the table. "Am I in the right place? Or are you two just here to get an easy 'A'?"

"That depends," Alicia started. "Do you like endless boredom? If so, then this school is the right place for you. Every class is basically an easy 'A'."

"No, actually, I meant for the Newspaper. Is this the right room?" Derrick questioned, but slightly laughed at Alicia's comment.

Massie nodded. "Check it out." She pointed to the old framed front pages of the Briarwood Bugle on one wall. It was their school newspaper that consisted of well-developed images.

"Don't worry, the paper's the least boring thing about this place," Alicia exclaimed, "So you know, if you can't handle it and want more endless boredom then there already is, there's probably a chess club meeting you could attend-"

"Hey, I just moved from endless boredom. In fact, that was the name of the place. Had it on all the license plates." Derrick formed the shape of a rectangle with his hands and drew a line across the bottom of it. "The Endless Boredom City."

"You live in _New York City_, how could it be boring? It's the 'Big Apple'." Alicia remarked. "Why is it even called the 'Big Apple'? It's not like it's the city of fruits."

"I don't understand though, you're so tan. How could you just be from New York City?" Massie asked, but then regretted it. She hated being asked a lot of questions and she felt bad for Derrick. He was the 'new kid' after all and he has probably been asked thousands of questions today.

"Easy. My dad and I just went to South Carolina. He was into golf, me? Not exactly." He remarked.

"Why not?" Alicia asked.

"Because… I hate golf? Derrick said. "Because I can't stand trying to hit a little white ball with eighteen different clubs. Besides, golf shirts are not flattering, I'd have to listen to my dad make small talk and watch him hit on the cart girls, and tell me I should be more like Tiger Woods. Yeah, no thank you."

"Oh. I see. Well, as long as you're not bitter." Alicia turned to Massie and smiled.

A few more people came into the room – Landon Crane, the sports editor, and Griffin Hastings, the managing editor – but no sign of the teacher.

"Hey, while we're waiting for the big cheeses, you want to look over the paper? Here are some of my best columns." Alicia grabbed a stack of papers and handed them to Derrick. "They're actually all good, so. Just randomly read."

Derrick raised an eyebrow. "As long as you're not vain." Derrick added sarcastically.

Alicia had her own editorial column called "Ooh La Leesh." In it she asked around the "dirt burning questions of our time," or so she said. For example, some of her recent topics included "Why are the graduation requirements so rigid? Why can't we just take the subjects we're interested in? Why is there no debate team? Why can't we revise the dress code, this isn't the 1920s? Why can't we have school field trips more often? Why do the budget cuts need to be so deep? Et cetera. Massie, and probably everyone at their school, knew that Alicia would win awards one day. She always won arguments and her creative mind just added to her impeccable qualities.

Massie wasn't nearly as creative, so she stuck with photography. There, she wouldn't have to speak her mind. All her words could be said through one picture. She was good with facts, not expressing her opinion and if things ever happened at their school besides the soccer team's winning streak, photography wouldn't be such a bad assignment. But it usually involved taking pictures of sporting events, not that they won at anything besides soccer. Which is probably why she dreaded the class most of the time – the Briarwood Gods were on the soccer team.

What was good about her job in journalism though, was that she always ended up in the front page of the newspaper. Even though no one really read the newspaper, it was an accomplishment for her. She believed that the fact that her photos were in the front page all the time, it would offset some of the things that she wasn't so good at – like math – in the college-application scales.

"So, I have a question for you Derrick Harringtonderrick," Alicia started. "Why did you move here now? I mean the end of March is kind of a strange time to transfer."

" Yeah no doubt. Well, see, you know Fisherance (a/n: Fisher Insurance Company), right? My dad-"

"He moved here to work there?" Alicia interrupted. "You know, Massie's dad actually works there and so does my mom."

"Really?" Derrick asked astounded. "I know this might be an odd question, but does everyone work there?"

"Almost," Alicia remarked.

"Cam Fisher's dad is the owner of the place," Massie added. They both exchanged an awkward look before Massie started to babble. "Sorry, that wasn't important I just–"

"Still, I don't get it," Alicia said. "You just moved here, and you want to work on the Briarwood Bugle? I pegged you more of a…" She paused, looking down at his large physique.

"Athlete." Massie whispered and Alicia nodded.

Derrick stared at Massie for a few seconds. "I guess it's just because journalism used to run in the family before it died down in New York City. My mom used to work for the New York Times."

"But seriously, why would your dad move here to work at Fisherance?" Alicia asked.

Derrick looked at her, confused. "Do you want me to leave? I feel like I'm being interrogated by the police."

"No!" Alicia yelled, a little too loudly. "No, not at all. I didn't mean it like that. Sorry. I just wondered, you know, why?"

Derrick crumpled an empty plastic candy wrapper in his hand. "Well, the thing is, my dad doesn't exactly work at the company. I mean, he does, but not the way you're thinking. He actually just got hired to run it."

Mr. Bugle walked into the room by the time Derrick finished his sentence, with Claire Lyons, the editor and chief. He was wearing a casual dress suit that hung against his large physique. His sleeves covered his hidden tattoos that Alicia and Massie had once seen, and a pair of black shoes with a tan leather trim that looked straight out of a bowling alley – with a more urban uniqueness. He had a huge selection of shoes that wouldn't really be considered "cool" on anyone else, but they looked good on him. "He's a shoe God," Alicia had said once, and she'd told Massie that he always went to Boston to buy them, and she'd memorized the names of the stores where he went. Alicia knew a lot about Mr. Bugle. It was as if she was in love with Mr. Bugle, actually.

"Not in that way-too-old-for-me Vladimir Nabokov Lolita way, not at all," she'd insisted when she'd tried to explain her feelings to Massie. "I just think he's the greatest teacher I've ever had and probably ever will have." That was how she'd convinced Massie to work on the Briarwood Bugle – by going on and on about how excellent Mr. Bugle was. That and the fact that Stooder was breathing down Massie's neck for her to "get involved."

In the end, Alicia turned out to be right – she usually was any way. Mr. Bugle could light up a room, as cliché as it sounds. He could make one think, and laugh, and want to work on things. Ironic right? Mr. Bugle pushed people to write better, take better photographs, and even choose better fonts than "Times New Roman." He wrote with expensive fountain pens that only people from OCD used, had a huge collection of classic novels, and was one of the teachers who absolutely refused to coach anything, no matter how hard they begged him to take over the track team or revamp the cheerleading squad. He just didn't care for the "extra cash," or well, being well rounded. He took his students out to eat instead. He considered that an extracurricular. He was best friends with Massie's favorite teacher, Mr. Davidson, considering his love for the classic novels, and their bond had always reminded her of hers and Alicia's. Their friendship was just inevitable.

"And you are?" Mr. Bugle asked as he glanced around the staff table and noticed Derrick's blond locks.

Derrick sat up a little straighter. "Derrick Harrington."

"Harringtonderrick," Alicia coughed.

Mr. Bugle glanced at her, a little confused, and then turned back to him. "Hello… Derrick. I'm glad you're here."

"Thank you," Derrick said. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Bugle." He waved at the rest of the newspaper staff. "Hey, everyone."

"So, you just transferred here?" Mr. Bugle asked as he sat on the edge of his desk up in the front; he was always interested in his student's lives. "Where were you before this?"

Derrick tapped a pen against the table. "Well, it's sort of a long story. I mean, I went to OCD, and I'm here now. That's basically it, I guess."

"You certainly are," Alicia added. "And you have our sympathy."

"Ignore her," Mr. Bugle joked. "We've all learned to," he grinned at Alicia when she crossed her arms. "Did you work on your school's newspaper?"

"Sort of. I was kind of just the guy that put the newspapers into the stand."

"Well, what can you _actually_ do?" Claire Lyons barked. Alicia and Massie had never really liked her. She was always so bossy and got into people's business. It was the school's newspaper, not _The New York Times_ _or The Washington Post._ Derrick looked at her and seemed a little taken aback.

"You know, Mr. Bugle, we really need someone to cover sports." Landon Crane commented.

The sports section was usually two pages long – it was always about the soccer team and it was a lot, considering the paper was four pages total.

"Oh. Well, that's cool. But I'm not that interested in writing about sports because, well..." Derrick responded.

"Cause why? Did you even go to school?" Claire sneered. Mr. Bugle quickly waved away her rude remarks.

"Neither am I. Great men think alike. I've been trying to downsize that section for years." Mr. Bugle smiled. "We'll find something else for you, don't worry. We never turn away anyone who wants to go into journalism."

"Very noble of you," Derrick commented.

"Oh, we're extremely noble," Alicia said. "We're constantly getting awards for that. Pultizer Prizes– "

"Nobel Prizes," Derrick added jokingly.

Alicia nodded, laughing. "Exactly." She gave Massie a look, like do you believe this? It was strange, how they seemed to have the sense of humor… but why did that make Massie feel… angry?

"Let me introduce you to everyone Mr. Harrington," Mr. Bugle started before getting interrupted with Alicia's "Harringtonderrick," comment. Mr. Bugle cleared his throat. "This is our editor and chief, Claire Lyons."

Claire gave Derrick a very tight smile, as if she hadn't wanted to, but was doing it out of politeness. It was difficult having Claire as editor in chief, because she didn't like anyone who didn't do things her way. However, she was the only one willing to do work the hardest, so in a way she deserved the job. She was a senior, the yearbook editor, held the attendance record at their school, and had never been late to school, not even in blinding snowstorms. "She's one of those big-fish-in-a-small-pond people." Alicia had said when Claire got the job. "When she leaves here, she'll be nobody and she won't be able to deal with it. So let her be in charge for now."

"Griffin, our managing editor," Mr. Bugle continued. "Massie, our photographer. And if you already don't know, Alicia, whose editorial column, 'Oh La Leesh' is legendary around here. In her mind, any way."

"Oh. You're hurting me. You're killing me," Alicia sarcastically yelped.

"Sports, we have Landon. Layout is done by Dylan Marvil and proofreading by Allie-Rose Singer. And that about rounds out our illustrious staff." Mr. Bugle finished.

"Maybe I could do something with lifestyle, you know an arts or entertainment section?" Derrick suggested.

"I handle all the entertainment news," Claire said groggily.

Derrick just stared at her with a surprised look on his face. Massie knew what he was thinking: Claire didn't exactly seem like the person with the word "fun" in her vocabulary, much less a person to write a whole article on entertainment.

"Can't you use a little help?" Alicia asked her. "I mean there's way more we could put into the section, like movies and such."

"Movies haven't been in my selection because they're all rated R and not suitable for our student body." Claire exclaimed and smoothed the back of her long, blond-high-lighted-hair. She was a little on the uptight side.

"Well, how about a gossip column then?" he suggested. "Reporting on who was seen where and with whom." Massie stared at Derrick. She could picture him with a tiny reporter's notepad, following people around town, sitting in diners and bars and the town square, and looking for Briarwood dirt. He'd probably find a lot – especially about the Briarwood Gods. Not that she wanted news about them.

"I don't know, Derrick. I don't think it'd be that interesting. And if it was too interesting, we'd be in a little dilemma." Mr. Bugle exclaimed, tapping the desk with his expensive 'Montblanc Red Gold Fineliner Pen' – or just a pen, as most people called it.

"Like Landon said, we have an opening in sports. Take it or leave it." Claire said bluntly.

"Well, if you're going to put it that way." Derrick smiled at Claire. "I'll take it."

"Oh." She seemed vaguely disappointed and quite startled, but then straightened up. "Okay."

"Ever written about sports?" Landon asked. "Do you play any? Hockey? Soccer? Basketball? Football?"

"Does cycling count?" Derrick questioned.

"Um, sure. I guess." Landon sounded a little confused. "But I don't know if we'll ever have anything to report about that."

"Well, no, not until I get the team started," Derrick said. "But after that? Wow. Look out. Constant reportage."

"Yeah. Good luck with that," Landon told him under his breath.

"You can report what Landon says, after he and I discuss it," Claire mentioned. "Don't go off on some wild tangent though, we've had enough of that here." Claire glanced towards Alicia and Massie. Alicia scoffed.

Derrick sat back a little in his chair. "Okay then. Nothing… tangential." He looked at Alicia. "Is that a word?"

"It's very big in the geometry world, so yes." She told him.

While Claire and Mr. Bugle talked with Landon about how and what to delegate, Derrick scooted his chair closer to Massie. "So what's this guy like?" He gestured towards Mr. Bugle. "Is he cool? Does he up for Little Miss–"

"Yes," Massie interrupted him. "He does."

"And there are lot of perks being on staff," Alicia said. "There's this conference in Boston and we get to go for the whole weekend– "

"So, basically you guys are in this for a free trip to Boston." Derrick nodded.

"Well… yeah." Alicia agreed. "We usually go in the summer anyway, but this'll be like a bonus."

Massie hadn't really thought yet about what it would actually mean to go there this year. It wasn't exactly her favorite place to go.

"Okay?" Derrick waved his hand in front of Massie's face.

"What?" she asked.

"Boston. You, me, and I'll-leash-a-river-uh over here."

Massie nodded slowly and smiled. What was he talking about? "Sure," she ended up replying.

Alicia cleared her throat to clear the awkwardness arising. "She just gets choked up over the idea of leaving town. And speaking of which – you know, Derrick Harringtonderrick, we're really glad you moved here. But I heard that the town's sort of miffed."

"Why's that?" Derrick asked.

"Now they're going to have to redo the population sign. From 902 to 905."

Derrick sort of half smiled. "Actually it's 904. Until my dad kicks me out of the house, then it'll be 903."

"And this is going to happen?" Alicia looked shocked.

Derrick shrugged. "You never know."

Massie looked at Derrick. She finally put the pieces together of what he had bluntly implied – his mother wasn't around. She wanted to ask why, but she couldn't. That was too personal. He'd tell them eventually. She didn't want to push him like her other teachers did – except Mr. Davidson, of course.

"So we have some assignments for you," Claire coughed. "Did you check out some old issues?" Derrick nodded.

"How does it look?"

"Like you need me," He stated, looking at the framed newspapers on the wall. "Desperately."

"Excuse me?" Claire glared at him. Nobody talked to Claire like that, not even Alicia, no matter how hard she wanted to.

But Massie kind of thought he was right.

.&.

Massie hated third period. In fact, she dreaded it every other day. Third period consisted of the Briarwood Gods and no Alicia to help her deal with the pain. Whom else could Massie dislike more? She had thought about asking for a schedule change, but that would only mean one thing… She would have to face the wrath of Mr. Stooder again and she really wasn't in the mood for a psychological evaluation. So, Cam Fisher and his sidekicks would have to do.

"Massie, hey!" Cam yelled, catching up to Massie's fast pace. Massie smiled, she should have seen this coming. Cam started to shift awkwardly and placed his hand on to the back of his neck.

"So, you coming to the game this Wednesday?" he asked.

"Uh, yeah, I kind of have to." Massie stated, pointing towards the camera around her neck. "Being the photographer and all."

Cam slightly chuckled. "Yeah, I kind of forgot you were into that."

"That doesn't surprise me much." Massie smiled. "You were always one to forget." She knew she was a little harsh, but what was it about the Briarwood Gods that they didn't understand what the words "Leave me the hell alone," meant?

"Same old Massie." Cam smiled. "So I was thinking – "

"Oh wow, something new."

"Classic." Cam grinned. "Any ways, since you're going to be at the game and I'm going to play at the game, you might as well wear my jersey. You know, for old times sake."

Massie stared at wool fabric of the traditional soccer jersey. It was tradition at their school that before a huge game, the team would pick a person to wear their jersey. Usually they chose their girlfriends and Massie had been Cam's jersey-wearing girlfriend.

She remembered when she was first given the maroon and navy-lettered shirt. Its synthetic fibers hung against her milky toned skin and she would inhale the addicting smell of his Drakkar Noir cologne. She recalled girls looking at her with envy. Every girl wanted Cam's jersey, but Massie got it. She didn't understand why she had loved it last year so much. She even kept it in her dresser and wore it at night until Cam had asked for it back so he could play in the next game. But now, when she looked at it, it was just a limp piece of fabric with the words "Fisher" monogrammed on the back. It was nothing special. It was now just Cam's _soccer_ jersey.

"I know it's not the best gesture considering we haven't really talked much since the incident, but–"

"Can you just please leave me alone? Is that so much to ask for? We broke up months ago."

"6 months." Cam added. "And you never gave me an explanation for it Massie. You never told me what I did wrong." Massie stared at him, trying to find a good answer, but she couldn't. She didn't exactly know why she broke up with him. He had nothing to do with the situation, but at the same time he had everything to do with the situation.

"I think you know very well why I broke up with you."

"Massie, I wasn't the one who agreed to come to the game that night. You were." Cam retorted.

"Don't try to blame this on me." Massie implored, attempting to calm herself down by taking the yoga breathes that Alicia had taught her. "I was at _your_ soccer game, cheering _you _on that day."

"That's not what I'm trying to say it's just–"

"Why is it that I was the one that sat in the stands, in the freezing cold if I may add, cheering you on and yet, I never got anything in return? Instead, I get things that are most valuable to me taken away. Is that a good enough explanation for you?"

But Massie didn't let Cam answer.

…

I dropped a lot of hints for Massie's secret, but you all will find out soon if you haven't already. I'm kind of iffy on this chapter. Not sure if I like the last part of this chapter that much. Oh, and before I get "bashed" on, I do not believe that Soccer is actually the sport of Satan!

I forgot to do this last time, but thanks to those that reviewed the last chapter: Joan, dead end justice, Libby, we remain infinite, purplexheart, louiscide, get frisky, Massiekurrr, to infinity and beyonder, and xstaybeautiiful :-)

xx- Sami


	4. Rule Four

a/n: Todd is going to be Massie's little brother in this story.

This is bleh, but it's better than doing hw eh?

….

Rule #4: Bowling only guides you towards bad thoughts

(Preface)

Salvage Sightings was a warehouse located in an old mill building on the narrow strip of land between a canal and Birch Falls – just like the paper factory located by the "Fisherance" building, but on the opposite side. To drive to it, one would have to cross a narrow, one-lane bridge that was just a few feet above the rushing water in the canal.

However, living in Westchester, everyone was used to bridges – in other words most people developed immunity to it. Whenever grandparents or cousins visited, they always clutched their car seats and armrests, knuckles white, bracing themselves, and warding against an imminent panic attack for the worst.

But most people that were from Westchester had developed that immunity by the time they were seniors. Once you're a senior, it's tradition to jump off the big bridge north of Birch Falls. People would usually spray paint their initials on the underside of the bridge, or their friends would, and then they'd drop into the river where it pooled above the falls. People mostly did it in groups to be safe, but also to have witnesses so they wouldn't be accused of wimping out.

.&.

Salvage Sightings had the following rules posted on its entrance door:

NO WHOLESALERS

SHOPLIFTERS WILL BE PROSECUTED

ALL SALE ARE FINAL

NO SMOKING

SALVAGE SIGHTINGS ASSUMES NO RESPONSIBILITY FOR CARS LEFT OVER 24 HOURS

But Massie, and everyone else, knew that nobody paid attention to the last two rules. The far side of the Salvage Sightings parking lot was filled with rusted-out, abandoned cars and if someone went inside, the warehouse had a faint aroma of smoke, because the clerks chain-smoked, and some of the merchandise had been rescued from fires.

Salvage Sightings had three types of items: brand-new, nearly new, and flat-out irregular. "Nearly new" meant that it had either fallen off or out of a truck or train or been rescued from a warehouse that caught on fire or flooded. Natural disasters struck, and they ran to collect the precious items that were leftover and sell it to people in Westchester – cheap. It might sound kind of strange, but Massie had guessed that people kept going to Salvage Sightings because it was interesting what got left over – what tornadoes, hurricanes, floods, and other disasters left behind.

Massie's dad insisted on taking her and her little brother Todd there every other Sunday, which gave the store time to get new merchandise. Her dad was obsessed with looking for good deals, for getting the best price. "Hidden treasure," he'd call it when he found something good in the giant Overstock City section, where most people found hundreds of shirts in not quite the right color – but occasionally something semi-cool would show up, and her father would say, "We'll take a flyer on this."

For her dad, going to Salvage Sightings was as close he got to gambling, as close as he got to taking a risk. When someone found something good there, after searching through various, hopeless, unpromising bins, it was like winning the lottery. Her dad and Todd would race around trying to find the best bargains and the hidden gems that everyone else had somehow missed.

Besides the remnants and closeout specials, Salvage Sightings actually featured trendy clothes and used clothes. Alicia had found a cool, used leather jacket last year, and she bought at least four or five ten-dollar wool sweaters that were originally sold at Ralph Lauren. It was sort of like those tales that appeared on the streets of Boston, where suddenly in a rainstorm someone would be selling umbrellas for five dollars, but if it were sunny the same table would have sunglasses and hats.

The store itself featured trendy stuff that people had to have, but those that didn't want to spend much money on bought knock-offs. Salvage Sighting was full of knock-offs. It was unheard-of brands of soda, of socks, of tennis balls, and shampoos.

Massie was holding up a pair of skinny jeans and contemplating whether they were last year's trend or whether they might be next year's trend, when she sensed someone standing next to her.

"Hey, Massie." Derrick smiled at her.

"Oh hey! What are you doing here?" she asked. It sounded rude when she said it. She was just surprised to see him.

"My dad insisted we check it out. He said he's been looking out the window at it every day, and he was curious." Derrick rolled his eyes. "So I'm standing here and I'm wondering. What is the deal with this place? I mean it's sort of retro in a violating-every-antismoking-law-in-the-state-way." 

"Yeah. I know." She waved her hand in the air, and she could have sworn she saw white air move.

"So. This is like the Westchester Mall? Or what?" Derrick asked. "Hey, they really should think about opening one."

"Yeah, well. Alicia and I go to Yorktown or Thornwood when we want to actually buy anything." She shrugged. "Well, if we can convince our parents to take us. If not, there's a bus." She added.

Derrick wasn't listening to her however. He was staring across the first floor at the checkout. Massie followed his gaze and saw a man leaning out to light the cigarette of a girl working there. Massie guessed he was checking out the girl – she had the kind of body that actually looked okay in a hideous, bright orange-red uniform that had definitely come from someone else's overstock of bad uniform colors.

"Oh, great," Derrick muttered. "He's hitting on a woman in a smock top."

"He is?" Massie asked. "Who?"

Derrick turned away from them. "This is what my dad does. He's a serial flirt."

"Serial flirt?" Massie repeated.

Derrick nodded. "He's horrible. He can't resist anyone with – well, you know."

Two aisles over, Massie saw her dad pushing a cart filled with cheap soda and dented canned vegetables and fruit – his usual purchases. He hadn't hit a jackpot yet.

She felt someone tap her in the back, and turned around to see Todd standing behind her. He had jabbed her with a two-liter bottle of Soda – Dr. Salt, which almost never lived up to his name. It tasted nothing like the original brand Dr. Pepper. "Derrick, this is Todd, my little brother," she said.

"Brother." Todd insisted. "Not little."

He was right. Todd was tall and lanky, and when he was wearing his soccer cleats, he nearly towered over Massie. In fact, he nearly towered over her now, anyway, in sneakers. Todd looked a lot like her dad – they were both tall, with dark brown hair and green-gray eyes, while Massie felt unfortunate with her amber colored eyes.

"Okay. How about just Todd, then," Massie suggested.

"Hey, Todd," Derrick said.

Todd was carrying a couple of soccer balls in a net over his shoulder, but Massie couldn't see what was wrong with them. Maybe they had gotten wet and were warped, or maybe they were just plain defective. Todd looked at Derrick. "You play?"

"No. I never learned," Derrick said. Then he laughed. "Okay, I tried to learn. But I sucked. My hand-eye coordination doesn't exist at all."

"Yeah?" Todd asked, smiling. "I'm on the freshman team, a club team, and I'm going to this elite soccer camp this summer." He wasn't bragging, or if he was, at least he was justified. He really was an incredibly good player. He had all the athletic talent in the family.

"Impressive. I'll have to check out some games," Derrick remarked. "Next year, I guess."

Massie spotted her father watching them and moving closer with his cart. He was casting a strange look towards Massie. "So, we'd better go," she said to Todd, alerting her eyes towards their father.

"Yeah, hang around here much longer and you'll get cancer." Derrick coughed and waved his hand in front of his face as a clerk walked past, a cigarette hanging on the edge of his lips.

Massie tried to smile. "Yeah."

"Besides, I've got to find my dad before he hits on that woman over there restocking the candy aisle," Derrick laughed. "Do they have anything good here? Any salvaged candy I'd want?"

"I don't know. We bought some shattered peanut brittle once that wasn't too bad," she told him. "So, see you Monday?" Massie added, before walking over to join Todd and her dad in line at the register. She glanced around for Derrick's dad, but didn't see him anywhere. She looked back and saw Derrick picking up bags of no-name candy and examining them.

"Who's that?" her father asked Todd once Massie had reached the two.

"That's Derrick," Todd said. "He's new here and doesn't play soccer."

"Well then, what is the town doing, letting him stay?" Her dad shook his head. "Outrageous."

"Dad," Todd said.

"I'm calling the town council first thing tomorrow. Something needs to be done," he went on. "Issue that boy a soccer ball immediately. Here, let's give him a couple of yours." He struggled to pull a soccer ball from the net that Todd was securely holding on to.

"Dad. Quit it," Todd said, but he was starting to laugh.

There they were, having a good time. Her dad was just joking about the soccer thing, but it was the hype in Westchester, since that was the only sport that Briarwood was only good at.

"Well, it's almost spring. He has nine months to pick it up," her dad said as he got out his wallet out to pay for the cart of assorted salvaged loot. "Then we'll have a little talk with him." Her dad looked at her. "Is he in your class?"

Massie nodded. "Just got here, though."

"Oh. Interesting. I wonder if his family's going to need new insurance," her dad said.

Without "Fisherance," life was not worth living – according to their slogan. He handed his business card to the curvaceous clerk behind the register, who was wearing a nametag that read, "I'M NEW HERE! TREAT ME NICE!" She took a drag from her cigarette and stared at his card.

"If you quit smoking, call me," her dad stated. "We give discounts to nonsmokers."

.&.

After Salvage Sightings, the Blocks decided to go to Briarwood Candlepin Bowling Center. Unfortunately for Massie, this was the second part of their every other Sunday routine.

"Lane twelve." Olivia, the bowling alley manager – who was also the cook at the snack bar and the girl who had to chase down lost bowling balls – slid a pair of off-black shoes with a light blue trim across the counter to Massie. "Size seven," she muttered.

That was usually the extent of her conversations with Olivia. She went to Massie's school, but she wasn't really fond of… anybody really. She kept to herself most of the time and Massie had once seen her eating lunch in the art room. She had tried saying "hi," multiple times, but mostly received the ol' "cold" shoulder and glares.

"Size eight, actually." Massie told her, pushing the shoes back.

"Oh. Really." Olivia stepped back and gave Massie a once-over, as if to determine if she were lying that she wasn't in fact growing. She hated when an adult did that during visits to their house and would always excitedly yell, "Oh my goodness, look how big you're growing!" as if she hadn't noticed. But the fact that her classmate did kind of spooked her. She felt as if she were living in a biology experiment. Hypothesis: girls will grow taller. Lab results: Duh, no need for the once-over, she thought.

"Why didn't Alicia come today?" Todd leaned against the counter beside Massie and waited for Olivia to fog his size-ten shoes with disinfectant spray.

"She hates bowling," Massie responded. "You know that." Whenever Alicia met their family here, she'd end up sitting at the snack bar, hanging out with some of the regulars, or calling her mom and asking for a ride home after twenty minutes.

"Yes, she hates bowling, but she seems to like getting out of the house for any reason," her father chimed in. "And you two are practically attached at the hip." He said this all of the time and therefore thought it was actually true.

"No, we're not," Massie usually responded.

As Massie sat down to put on her shoes, she watched Todd and her dad joking around as they selected the perfect bowling balls, even though she was pretty sure they were all the same in candlepin bowling. They did this: They joked and laughed and had fun together. Dad made a point of doing fun things with Todd. Like renting action and comedy flicks and going to high school football games and went down to the Basketball Hall of Fame in Springfield.

Todd was a great athlete, but he didn't have the mindset for bowling. He was too… hyper. If he got a strike or spare, he'd try to do too much on his next frame and end up following it up with a gutter ball. He could get four frames of two in a row, and then get four strikes, and then strictly gutter balls to the end of the game.

Todd used to spend hours every day in front of the TV: he'd watch any sport available. Basketball, golf, tennis, NASCAR, baseball, swimming, diving, the national cheer championships. Anything. Her dad would toss books and magazines into Todd's lap while he sat in front of the TV to try and get him to read instead. He'd run circles around Todd's chair, just to get his attention. He was very goofy about it. He even posted signs on the TV that read, IF YOU HAVE SEEN TODD BLOCK, PLEASE CALL. 1-800-FIND-TODD. THANK YOU. Or he'd run out in front of the TV and say it, pronouncing, "Thank you very much," instead of "Thank you," as if he were Elvis Presley.

Eventually, her dad just got rid of the TV all together. Todd switched obsessions and now he was into doing all sports instead of watching them. Therefore, he was gone from home a lot, but ironically her dad could spend more time with him now because he had to drive him to the gym, to the field, to the recreational center. So she guessed that, that was what her dad wanted, which was Todd out of the recliner. That was what made her dad happy. But now, they didn't have cable, and that's not what Massie wanted.

Over the winter, Todd and her dad had rented snowmobiles a few times, and they'd tried to convince Massie to come along, but she hadn't. They'd come home with glowing face, frostbit-looking noses, hat hair, and red ears. "We had a great time," they'd say. "You should come with us next time."

And when they said that, she wanted to. She wished she could have, but she couldn't.

They were halfway through their second game, and Massie was standing there, holding her second ball and waiting for the machine to clear the eight fallen pins, when she heard a high-pitched laugh. Then she heard someone else laugh - it sounded like her dad. Massie glanced over her shoulder and saw him talking and laughing with a woman who looked vaguely familiar, and the man standing beside her.

What was he doing? Massie stood there and stared. He was _laughing_. How could he laugh so much in one afternoon? He never laughed at home. He sat there and stared at the wall or dozed off in a chair while trying to read. The only time he perked up at all was when Todd was around.

But whenever they were out in public, he mingled with people. He made it look so casual, so easy. As if everyone wasn't staring at them and wondering, how are they doing? Are they all right?

Or maybe they weren't wondering, maybe they'd completely forgotten already, and she wasn't sure which was worse.

"Come on, Mass. Bowl already!" Todd nearly yelled.

But she just stood there staring at her dad as he walked back over to their scoring table. She was so mad, she couldn't take her eyes off him.

"Are you having fun?" she asked. She tried to keep it light, but her voice came out sounding rude and bitter.

"What's that, Massie?" her Dad looked up at her.

Are you having fun? Are you enjoying yourself? Is this a _party_ for you? She thought. "Nothing," she responded.

"No, what?" her Dad continued.

"Never mind," she hastily responded.

"Massie. Come on. What did you say?"

"_Bowl_ already," Todd said again.

Massie turned back to the lane to take her turn. It wasn't worth it, anyway.

"Come on, Massie," her Dad clapped. "Pick 'em up!" he called as she aimed for the two remaining pins. She reached back with her arm and concentrated, but when the ball rolled from her fingertips, it veered into the gutter.

"Gutter ball!" Todd yelled happily. That meant he still had a chance of beating her. "Too bad, Mass."

Her dad looked at her as she walked past the scoring table and sat in the chair farthest away from him. "You'll get him next game," he cheered in an encouraging tone. "Don't worry."

"I don't care," she muttered.

"Come on, Massie," her dad insisted. "Cheer up."

_Cheer up_? Who did he think he was talking to? Sometimes he seemed to be in a completely different world, as if having him say "have a nice day" and "cheer up" would just automatically make that happen, make horrible things disappear. He sounded like a bad, cheap greeting card. Maybe that worked with Todd, but not her.

"You know what?" Todd commented as she sat beside him at the scoring table a few minutes later. "You know what we should do?"

"Leave?" Massie mumbled.

"No." Todd elbowed her in the ribs. "We should join a bowling league. That way we'd bowl more often and get really good. That could be sort of cool."

"A league? All right. Let's talk about it," her Dad said, standing in front of them. "Seems to me that the first thing we have to decide is what to put on the back of our shirts. We need to ask someone to sponsor us. Right?"

"No." Massie muttered.

"Come on, Mass. It'll be great," Todd encouraged. "We'll purchase our own bowling balls–"

"No." Massie repeated.

"And our own shoes, so we won't have to rent shoes anymore, and you won't have to talk to Olivia– "

"No!" Massie yelled, not looking at either one of them. "You guys can do it, but count me out."

"You know what? You are not fun sometimes. So not fun." Todd shoved out of the chair and walked up to the counter to start another game.

Massie knew that Todd hated her when she acted like that. She hated that about herself, after the fact, when she saw how upset he got.

"Massie, it's all right." Her dad said. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to."

Massie just stared at the floor. Weren't they already?

…

Salvage Sightings is actually based on a place I experienced when I went downtown where I live, haha.

Reviews make me happy. Thanks to those that did! – Luv2Live Live2Luv, dead end justice, purplexheart, to infinity and beyonder, joan, get frisky, .space, Massiekurrr, and louiscide.

xx- Sami


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